When I was young in theravine, I'd walk down the path and never return. I'd see the blood-red leavesfloating like feathers, landing on the cold, damp ground. The pond would be stilland icy cold, but not yet frozen. I would take off my socks and dip my feet intothe freezing water, letting my toes become numb. I'd see my reflection smilingback at me with warmth and excitement. The sun was faint, covered by thick silverblankets
When I was young in the ravine, I'd slowly walk through thebushes, stepping on crispy dried leaves, hearing them shatter into pieces.Chipmunks, squirrels and other critters of the wild scattered across the path,ferreting for food. The birds soared high up in the sky, beginning their longjourney to the south.
When I was young in the ravine, I'd swan dive intothe pond off a large fallen log. The water was cold, crisp and clean. My facefelt refreshed and yet it had been scraped with little knives, as though ice wasforming on my face. My body felt as though a thousand cuts and wounds had formed,the pain pierced through thin layers of skin, forced through strong muscles andreached my solid bones.
When I was young, the ravine was just the rightplace.
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